The Work Begins Again... Returning to Port Brokeferry, too.

(Have made a positive start to the year... four new pieces of work spilled out and having some fun with the words again. And below we are back with the Port Brokeferry project... here's another one for the Tuesday.)

THE THREE STONE FISHERMEN

There’s a statue at the harbour. Carved out of a single block of grey granite. Three fishermen cut larger than lifesize. Their hair all windblown and their lined faces squinting out to sea. Like they are looking for something. They are strong men, their features betray them: faces serious and chiselled square, arms knotted and thick. They stand together, as though they are brothers, joined by the overlap of stone. Their fingers clutch at stone-rope that trails at their feet.

Their names are there on the granite base if you care to look: Finlay Hart, Hugh Preston, and Gavin Gladwell. And a date: June 17^th, 1882. Underneath that an inscription: ‘There Are Giants Amongst Us.’ Visitors always stop to have their pictures taken standing next to the three heroes.

Today, Mad Martin stands in line with the three big men, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, and he looks to where they look. As if they might be searching for the same as him. He does not move, as though he could be cut from stone too. Nine seagulls call to him, but he stands as still as the three stone men.

He calls a name then. Sends that name skimming across the water, as he and Col once did with flat stones on the beach. Athol did too, but Mad Martin does not remember that. Mad Martin sees only Col beside him, bent low, jerking his arm back and forth and sending a flat stone dancing across the surface, sliding almost, in a slow arc.

Guthrie looks up from his polished tables. He sees Mad Martin at the harbour. He laughs then. Shakes his head and returns to his work. Eileen is on time today. Guthrie is whistling to show he is pleased. He’ll drop some extra silver in her tips jar when she isn’t looking.

Mad Martin climbs down from the statue and empties his pockets of breadcrumbs there at the feet of the three stone men. The gulls seem to protest. He moves off leaving them to fight over their breakfast. He sees Athol Stuart on his way to the station. Athol calls and waves.

‘Have you seen, Col?’ says Mad Martin.

‘No, Martin, I haven’t.’

‘Do you think he’s lost?’

‘He’s maybe hiding,’ says Athol. ‘I’ll keep my eyes open for him.’

The three stone fishermen are not remembered. There is no mention of them in the leaflet produced for the tourists by the town council. Though their statue appears on several postcards of Port Brokeferry, their exploits are never talked of. If they are asked about, the locals shake their heads or shrug their shoulders, not knowing any more who they were or what they did.